


Not of deceit

by valiantfindekano



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Brother Feels, M/M, Post-Ragnarok, could almost be pre-slash?, not really that shippy, nothing adult happens they just sass each other a lot, some myth-based stuff pulled directly out of my ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12733749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantfindekano/pseuds/valiantfindekano
Summary: It’s going to take some time to get used to the fact that home is now an outdated spacecraft, very much stolen from the ass-end of the universe. The Æsir survive, but they’ve suffered an unexpected and crippling blow, and to be perfectly honest, Thor’s plan to drop every survivor into whatever empty corner of Midgard doesn’t immediately take up arms against them is a shit plan.But it is what it is.





	Not of deceit

It’s going to take some time to get used to the fact that home is now an outdated spacecraft, very much stolen from the ass-end of the universe. The Æsir survive, but they’ve suffered an unexpected and crippling blow, and to be perfectly honest, Thor’s plan to drop every survivor into whatever empty corner of Midgard doesn’t immediately take up arms against them is a shit plan. 

But it is what it is.

It will also take time to get used to the patch over Thor’s eye, to look at it and not have to think of their father every damn time. 

Loki comes to see him in person rather than sending a magical projection more often than not now, and gradually, Thor has stopped throwing heavy and sharp objects at him to verify; it had seemed like a gratuitous show of trust at first, until Loki considered that it was only reciprocating the trust he’d shown by showing up physically in the first place. Still, he tells himself that it’s only because he has nothing better to do, and thus no reason to make a distinction between real and unreal versions of himself. The possibilities on this spacecraft are limited, especially while he has to keep out of Banner’s way lest a hideous green monster destroys the craft’s infrastructure and pounds an innocent Asgardian or two into a pulpy mess.

A part of him might even find that amusing, if he wasn’t the most likely target for becoming a smear on the mess galley floor.

Currently, Loki reclines on the bed in the room Thor has claimed for himself, with catlike languidness. On the other side of the room, his brother continues to stare into a mirror. It’s amusing to see such a prolonged display of vanity—there’s the matter of the eye, but Loki also knows that Thor has been quietly and privately suffering over the loss of his golden tresses too.

“Your hair looks fine,” he lies, propping himself up on his elbow. It doesn’t, of course; the close crop had almost worked, even if it had been shorn off with less dignity than most shepherds gave to their sheep, but enough time has passed to let the longer hairs start to stick out in odd directions.

“It’ll need years to recover, Loki.” Thor shakes his head. “Years.”

“You could wear a wig.”

Ooh, that murderous glance he receives in response wouldn’t have been out of place on his own features! It’s with a smirk that Loki lets his hand run through his own raven strands, adjusting a curl behind his ear, and he hears a satisfying huff of frustration from Thor as he does it.

But Thor’s been experimenting with being a bigger man these days, so he doesn’t take the bait.

“Father traded his eye for wisdom,” he states after a moment.

“So the story goes,” Loki answers mildly. He has his doubts about the degree to which Odin could claim any wisdom, but if he has an inkling of where this story is heading … he understands the distinction Thor is trying to make. It had been a willing sacrifice on their father’s part—bravely done, maybe, but no accident.

Thor had simply been clumsy in a fight, and fighting had always been the one thing he was undeniably _good_ at. Not a sacrifice, for him—just humiliation. But it has made him a little more bearable, hasn’t it? Ah, unless that’s just the weight of having recently reduced Asgard to less than rubble. Hard to tell.

For now, Thor just grimaces. “Sometimes when I go to pick something up, my hand goes to the wrong place. Do you think our father ever knocked over a tankard while trying to pick it up because he wasn’t used to having one eye? I’m going to make a terrible king if I always spill things on myself.”

“I don’t see how that will be a change from before,” Loki replies with an exaggerated grimace. “What about your ability to fight?”

“The lightning…” Thor begins, then pauses. “…impaired. Slightly. I’m still strong. Only…less strong from that side now.”

“There is an empty loading dock we could use for training,” Loki suggests, and hopes something in his expression speaks to something unspoken: _just us. The green monster is not invited._

* * *

There’s no substitute for the experience of a real fight, but Loki realizes it’s been a long time since he’s had the luxury of what amounts to a play fight—a chance to refine his skill with no real stakes for missing a cue and ducking too late, or misfiring a spell and leaving himself open to attack. It’s like being young again, even if the heat of the moment is never enough to erase the weight of the last few years. 

But for now, it feels good. It feels even better to have a known weakness of his brother’s to exploit, and always with his daggers he keeps to that side until a hesitation in Thor’s movement leaves enough of a gap for Loki to slide past him, pivot, and hook an arm around his brother’s neck to pull him into a chokehold that surely won’t last long. But the dagger hidden up his vambrace is the insurance against that, and he moves his arm just enough to let the cold metal touch the edge of Thor’s exposed neck.

He’s about to lean in and hiss a self-congratulatory remark into his ear when it occurs to him that Thor isn’t even trying to break free, despite the point of this exercise ostensibly being how to avoid this situation happening. In fact, now that Loki is considering it, he finds something almost relaxed in his brother’s posture …

It behooves him to mirror it, in this game of reciprocal trust they’ve been playing. The knife stays in place, though, and Loki grits his teeth, feeling safe in the knowledge that Thor won’t be able to see the tension or the doubt in his expression.

“Brother,” he finally says. “Is this … deceit?”

“How so?” Annoyingly, the smile on Thor’s face is audible in the shape of his words.

“You lure me into a sparring match in the hopes of manufacturing an embrace—”

“ _You_ invited _me_ to spar.”

“You wanted me to ask!”

Thor eases up a conciliatory hand, which Loki reads as a surrender; he lets his arm uncoil and backs away to a safe distance while Thor turns to face him.

“I wanted to spend time with my brother,” Thor corrects. “Not everything has to be about ulterior motives.”

Loki is momentarily struck with the compulsion to spit in derision. But here on the ship that at least for the moment represents Asgard, the people are still somehow looking to him like he’s a prince, even if Odin’s death and Thor’s ascension have probably relegated him to a more marginal title now—officially speaking, anyway. He should at least act that part, not the gagged and chained prisoner whose ragged exploits around the galaxy left him deranged and uncouth.

“Not with you.” The knife goes away, but Loki stalks a few paces away to lean against a guardrail on the edge of the platform they’ve used as their sparring grounds, idly observing the expanses of sheet metal and wire beneath them. Thor might be adamant that Asgard is the sum of its people, not the gilded palaces and blossoming gardens that they grew up in, but that hardly makes this exile any less shameful.  

It’s very _like_ Thor, of course, to hold to that meager optimism. For all his struggles, he has always seemed to take everything in stride—but he’s always been handed the keys to his success, too. His booming laugh, strength enough to toss a beast or three aside like anyone else would swat away an insect, that stupid hammer to signify whose special, golden child he was, and of course his gang of Midgardian lunatics ready to pump him full of their self-righteous rhetorics.

By contrast, Loki knows he is himself of a different nature: a lying, backstabbing, double-crossing spellweaver. It’s not that he would change any of it—he’s committed now to the knowledge that this is not only what he excels at, but where all his power and influence comes from. To take away his deceits and trade them all in for honesty and loyalty would be like making his brother the god of clear skies and fair, harmless weather.

The ugly fact of the matter is that _love_ simply doesn’t fit in with dishonesty and disloyalty. He’s crafted himself to be something notable, but fundamentally unlovable.

Maybe Thor is exactly the kind of idiot optimist that would be stubborn enough to try. The optimism must be infectious, too, for Loki to be considering that thought.

Thor moves to lean over the balcony too, and in what Loki reads as an oddly astute move for him, he chooses the side that will place his missing eye to the outside. Or perhaps it isn’t astute at all—now he can see his brother’s gaze flickering towards him, curious or wary or pitying.

“You don’t see it, do you?” Thor asks quietly. (Yes. Astute. The comment would be laughable if all Loki could see was the patch over his eye…)  

_Father traded his eye for wisdom._

He merely inclines his head as permission for Thor to go on.

“You caused this.” It’s an echo of an accusation that Thor has already made, but it’s enough to draw out a flinch all the same. The crinkle around the single storm-blue eye confirms, even worse, that Thor has noticed it, but he has enough mercy not to comment. “But in the end, you came through for us when it was time to fix your mistakes. Without a way to escape, our people would have died. I might be giving you too much credit here…but I’ve learned that being a hero isn’t about never making mistakes. It’s about rising above them and correcting—are you _choking?_ ”

So much for not spitting like a Midgardian peasant; it’s been so long since Loki has genuinely laughed, not simply sneered at an enemy or affected a charming little chuckle to pretend he’s pleased at an unfunny joke, and the result is more like an undignified cough. “Must I put up with speeches now, my glorious king?”

Thor actually pouts. “I’m trying to say that we all have a chance to restart,” he protests. “You’ve had a taste of what it is to save people rather than to harm them—and _I_ can say that I am proud of my brother. I want to keep saying that.”

There’s silence for a moment; Loki finds he has to put concentrated effort into keeping his jaw from falling open in surprise, though the series of rapid blinks betray a feeling as forceful as one of Thor’s fists slamming into his stomach mid-spar. It isn’t wholly unexpected; Thor, as he’s noted, is obtusely optimistic. Briefly, it crosses his mind that this might be his brother’s way of using him, to ensnare him and keep him on his side rather than leaving him open to pursue more dubious connections.

It’s what he would do, under the circumstances.

“You know I’ll never do anything simply because you want it,” Loki says instead. Thor gets enough of what he wants, after all, without a brother pandering to his every wish. In fact, he might even go so far as to say that it’s his solemn responsibility never to give in, lest Thor suddenly start to believe that the universe revolves around him.

“I know.” Thor pauses long enough for his pout to fade into something more contemplative. “But I wanted to say it.”

Loki supposes he won’t fault him for that—but he also supposes he should keep in mind the very different circumstances under which Odin and Thor lost their eyes.


End file.
